I enjoy going to open houses and having an excuse to peek inside homes. Many of you probably feel the same. Does your area still host a “Street of Dreams”? That annual tradition used to be one of my favorite events for years (we moved, so I’m not sure if Portland still holds it). Open houses are fun when you’re browsing, but the excitement fades when you’re seriously searching on a tight budget.
That’s our situation now: trying to find what we need while the market favors sellers. If you’re selling in Seattle right now, you’re likely celebrating. For anyone who missed my earlier post about our move and wants context, I’ve shared the first part of our story elsewhere. Despite the stress, we’re confident this move is the right decision for this season of life.
We’ve toured many houses, and most haven’t felt like the one. Houses give off a vibe—at least that’s how it is for me—and you often know within minutes whether a place resonates. When a house speaks to you, it feels like home even before you move in. Unfortunately, in this market the homes that feel right are frequently beyond our reach, or we lose them to other buyers.
Shopping in Seattle is challenging because competition is intense. A positive lesson from this process is remembering that dream homes come in many forms—different sizes, styles, and neighborhoods. When a house speaks to you, it doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s ideal. It simply invites you in, and that invitation can be comforting.
Moving isn’t about finding a literal fairytale home; it’s about building a life where we are. The right house for us might not match my dreams exactly, and over the years I’ve learned to embrace contentment. That doesn’t mean I won’t miss our current home—I will—but I’m open to the adventure of turning whatever we find into a welcoming place. Even if a new house has an ordinary exterior, an outdated kitchen, or a less-than-ideal location, I’m mostly excited rather than discouraged.
I keep imagining what it will feel like to start over for the right reasons and make someone else’s house our home. The mix of emotions is real: hopeful, fearful, sad, excited, tired, and oddly energized to begin again. It might sound strange that I’m ready to leave a home I love, but I’m embracing the change with optimism. Ideally it would be wonderful to move into a home that’s already picture-perfect, but I’m prepared to shape and improve whatever we find.
While traveling recently, I talked with several women who shared their home hopes and dreams. It’s powerful how universal that longing is. Some spoke through tears about their dreams, afraid to hope too fully. Others were in awe, moving into a home they once only imagined. And some were waiting anxiously for loans to close or the right opportunity to appear.
Until the key is in your hand and you can lock the door behind you, there’s an uneasy suspense during a move. That in-between time can feel fragile and uncertain.
No matter how a dream home looks, we recognize the same heartbeat in others—the vulnerability of longing for a safe place to call home. Hope can be risky; it’s natural to hold back to protect yourself from disappointment. Even so, I’m holding on to hope. This move isn’t born of hardship; it’s intentional and full of goals for our family’s well-being. It still brings stress, but also anticipation.
We don’t expect perfection, and we don’t require an ideal plan. We believe we can find a sense of home wherever we land. Our next chapter is still unfolding, and I’m glad to share the journey with you. I’ll tell you what we’ve been searching for, what we discover along the way, and what we ultimately choose. There’s so much ahead, and I can’t wait to share it.